


Hospitality

by Xaverri



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Celebrity Crush, F/M, One Night Stands, One Shot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6365479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaverri/pseuds/Xaverri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something I had to get out of my head. Leaving the celebrity in the story nameless so you can use him for whomever you have in mind. This is dedicated to all the damned unobtainable crushes I've had, and will have in my life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hospitality

*

You're on the couch with your family, like every regular midweek evening. The doorbell rings, which is less common this late but still nothing out of the ordinary. Then your mum excitedly yells your name from the hallway and that is what breaks normalcy.

He stands at the door, flanked by camera- and soundman and in utter confuse you blurt out your regular response to seeing him on screen. This time, however, his effortless smile is all for you and those lips are truly touching the back of your hand in amused reply to your mumbled, "What's this? The love of my life?"

Of course he is charmed to hear such a compliment, then politely requests your mum for a place to stay the night. You have to blink a couple of times when he sits across from you at the couch, and vaguely recognise the television show he must be participating in. He offers an explanation to your mother (bless the woman for _of course_ inviting him and his crew in) that they test the hospitality of a random city by asking door-to-door favours. A day spent in your city brought them, out of all places, to your doorstep.

He is so, so appealing.

*

You're in your room, preparing for the night, but unlike every regular evening your heart is hammering in your chest. The knowledge of having him so close-by combined with the lovely evening spent on the couch in his presence has left your nerves thrumming. Whomever expected this to happen: To converse familiarly, openly, with one of your biggest celebrity crushes? Your shower has helped cool you down a little, but just thinking of the silly jokes he entertained your family with makes you bite your lip to stop from laughing out loud in your solitude. You wrap your hair in a towel but are startled by the creak of the door behind you.

"Oh, so sorry, this doesn't look like the bathroom at all," he smiles cheekily and for a moment you wonder if he even has any other way of talking as the curl of his lips never seem to fade.

"I'm quite sure my mum pointed it out to you earlier," you say, not knowing where you got the confidence to talk back to him like that. From his spreading smile he does not seem to mind it, in fact it only appears to amuse him.

"I must've forgotten." His eyes dash across your smallish room. Yes, you are with two siblings, there is not much space in your parents' ordinary family house but you're happy with the small amount of private space. But now, with nothing but two towels and the few steps that your room is wide separating you and him it feels like the crampiest place on earth.

His eyes land on you and he takes his time to take you in. Your throat clenches up and despite the casualness in his appraisal you can feel a sweat break out along your spine. This is starting to feel unreal.

Rudely, brazenly, he strides towards you. Looks down on you with a piercing, yet benign look. Your eyes cannot decide on which feature to settle so they dart across his face, trying to decipher his intention and having a hard time keeping your legs straight.

He is so, so tall.

You miss the moment he reaches out for the hand not clutching the towel wrapped around you, and before you know it he brings it up to his lips in a repeat of the gentlemanly gesture he greeted you with.

"Well," he smirks over your fingers, "I guess now I know where I need to be. Sweet dreams, beautiful."

Was that a wink? He's gone before you can comprehend what just happened. Your hand trembles when you bring it up to your face, and yes, you are definitely blushing if the temperature in your cheeks is any indication. Opting to save yourself the embarrassment of your mirror image you walk up to the door and close it softly.

Your hand, the hand, lingers on the key hesitantly. You ponder. You wonder. You do not lock it.

*

You're in your bed, and it is unlikely that sleep will come to you tonight. No midnight coldness can simmer the unrest, leaving you tossing and turning under stifling blankets. You've given up on trying to debate whether it's adrenaline from before, or anticipation towards what your imagination is insisting on conjuring up.

It's silly. It's stupid. Of course that's not going to happen. You should've just locked the door to prevent hope from existing in the first place.

You concede. Reaching out below your mattress your fingers curl around the toy hidden there and with a sigh of defeat you bring it towards you. Always afraid of the many ears in your house, and especially now, the lowest setting will have to do. The faint buzz only adds to your shame but you have no choice if you want any sleep at all tonight.

Per usual, to envision him there with you is not a difficult task but your breath hitches at the clarity of your current fantasy. His eyes even brighter, his styled hair that much more detailed and his voice... You could not stop yourself from staring every time he sipped his wine, or bit off pieces of the snacks your mum had provided. Each lick of that tongue across his lips is now being transferred to the sensation of the toy sliding between your legs, the gentle vibration as teasing a caress as the kiss he placed on the back of your hand.

In your world, tufts of his hair tickle your thighs. His tongue swirls around expertly; too slicked by your own desire there's hardly any friction but the thought of running your fingers through those dark spikes while his lips would work their magic is enough to ascent towards bliss.

You want him so, so badly.

In a flash, the idea of climbing down the stairs to then climb on top of his sleeping form on your mother's couch goes through your mind but you disregard it. You do not have that boldness in you. His crew is sleeping near. He will surely push you off right away. The thoughts sting, bringing you down before you even get there. You clench your teeth in frustration and try your best to go back to that dream but it is to no avail. You sigh once more in defeat.

The door creaks and you smile wearily. You could use a cuddle from the dog right now.

Then you bolt upright; hadn't you closed that door?

In the dark, his eyes are veiled, but surely he is smiling. You scramble to lift the blanket up to your naked chest, gasping as the toy falls from your hand on top of the covers near your feet. His head turns towards it. Mortified beyond means you make a dive for it. He is faster, and you almost die on the spot when he picks the still humming object between thumb and index.

Closer now, you can see the faint moonlight reflect a sparkle in his eyes. He is most definitely smirking now. Your limbs are frozen while a chaotic fire of questions erupts in your head. What is he doing here? What is his intention? How much longer before this stress kills you? You want to cover your face but nothing obeys.

He snorts in that recognisable way, unable to hold in his laughter, then giggles quietly, "Came back from the bathroom when I passed your door and thought, hey, that sounds funny."

A whine leaves your throat unintended. You are on your knees, the panic holding as tight grip on your heart as your hands on the cover. You plead silently to him to please, please not make fun of you. You do not think you could handle such a blow to your self-confidence.

The way he looks at you is best described as cheerful, such an opposite to your current state. With a twist of his other hand, he switches the toy off. Then in a movement that's both elegant and bold he tosses the object to the floor and bends down to bring himself to eye level.

"Don't think you'll need that any more," he whispers. When his lips touch yours the shock is felt throughout your body. For one moment it is all that exists, then with the soft sound that kisses make he eases back, eyes holding yours.

You blink. His lips curl up one-sided, "Is that not what you want?"

There are many things that you want, you doubt one night would be sufficient. Not trusting your voice, and quite surely not even being able to use it so, you manage to nod slightly. Luckily this seems to be enough. He breaks that frightening eye-contact by moving forwards. The electricity when your lips meet again continues to spark your senses and you give in to pure instinct.

Soft pecks turn into open-mouthed kisses, and those turn into sensuous slides of lips and tongues. Your hands dig into that damning hair and in return he strokes your back with warmth. Later you will reminisce this moment and mark it as how a kiss should make one feel. Sweet, assured, needed and searing hot.

Where the sweetness ends, physicality begins by his lips leaving yours and starting a torturous slow and wet line towards your throat. He lowers you down, never giving up attention to the skin there, instantly relighting that fire between your legs. But now it burns like never before because he is real, and he is here with you, and he tugs at the blanket to reveal a breast. The pad of his thumb touches your nipple so softly you cannot decide whether it tickles but it succeeds in making your breath hitch. Your fingernails scratch his scalp in reaction which he enjoys if the purr against your neck is any indication.

Biting your lower arm is the only thing you can do to prevent from making too much a sound when he lowers even farther to trace the other nipple with his tongue. He chuckles at your suffering, his breath cooling moist skin making it contract and pucker. You have never experienced this particular ache between your lower lips before, not as intense as now and it drives you insane. Something has to happen down there; something lewd and carnal. It moves you to grab for his night clothes and try to get them off for you crave naked contact.

Again he chuckles and moves up to lean above you on his elbows. That damned stare will surely be the end of you, you feel utterly out of control which is starting to make you feel uncomfortable but he whispers to you with an assuring smile.

"Eager, aren't we?"

You smile bashfully and nod. He leans down to ask you softly in your ear if you will need extra protection and despite the baseness of the question, the way he nuzzles your earlobe afterwards does nothing to ease the desire you're feeling.

At your softly spoken decline, he pushes himself upright to take off his shirt and you can do nothing but stare at his chest being revealed to you, and only you. He smirks, the vain bastard, making you blush to be caught staring. The surge of agitation moves your hands to the strings of his bottoms yet instead of helping, he opts to roam his fingers over your naked stomach, reminding you of your already-completely bare state. You are surprised at the lack of care for that fact, even finding it better for you do not know if you could handle any more delay.

Strings loosened you are now faced with the challenge of getting that last barrier off him and for that, you will definitely need his cooperation. So to gain his attention you grab his hardened length through the soft fabric. His hands still along with the gasp he lets out and you think you give him an unintentionally aggressive look as you move your hand up and down.

Again, you are being put in your place when he grabs your wrist and move it away from him, "Easy, tiger. Or this will be over all too soon."

The way he looks down at you through lidded eyes makes you turn your head in shame for your inexperienced actions to which he replies with sweet kisses to your cheek. Always this practised affection and it's driving you crazy.

A little movement above you is all it takes and suddenly there is a warm and naked body covering you, the full contact as glorious as fantasized.

So, so very suave.

Your mouth searches his and when lips connect your legs wrap around his hips in a motion as ancient as humankind. One propped arm keeps him from crushing you, the other moves down to first sensually slide himself between your slicked lips, then helps to enter you slightly. His moan is drowned out by your own, and luckily he's covering your mouth with his, swallowing the noise in heated kisses. He slides back and forth slowly, going only slightly deeper with each push and it's that maddening tenderness which seems ingrained in all his motions that makes you claw his back.

You have to break the kiss to gasp for air, unable to keep breathing normally. You pant in his hair while he dives down to pepper your neck with licks and kisses. When he finally reaches the point where your hips connect he stills to savour the moment. You nearly sob with the need for him to move but are soothed by his softly spoken words. He tells you you're feeling so good, so warm, so soft. Then with a kiss to your ear veers back to look at you and ask you if you are okay. You want to shout that you are not okay. That you've been on the brink of exploding for an indescribable time. That if he doesn't do anything soon you will kick him and his crew out on the streets.

But of course you simply nod and hope he catches the craving from looking in your eyes. And he is too gorgeous when he clenches your hip with one hand and does start. You haven't seen him looking this focussed, this serious ever before and it's all because of him being inside of you, moving at that torturous, slow pace. You whine and bite your lip; is this how he gets off? By putting the women he beds through misery with smooth dominance?

You think you cannot focus, you believe it is agony, but when he tells you to close your eyes you realise it was merely the intensity of his stare that truly was the death of you. As soon as you acquiesce, a fiery storm rages behind your eyelids and it only takes a few flicks of his thumb to reach that high you've been chasing for what seems like forever, tonight.

You clench him tight and he grabs your hair, digs his fingers in the flesh of your side, presses his lips hard against your neck then ruts against you in an animalistic way that intensifies your high exceptionally. His control slips, at last, and the moan he releases is frighteningly loud in the silence of the night.

Everything relaxes. Hot breaths of air fan your neck and you reciprocate.

And you feel so, so good.

Your body is thrumming with satisfaction from your high and the pleasantly warm heaviness on top of you. He pulls back then slums down next to you and naturally that effortless smile is back. But there's a unique glow to it which you soak up and file away in your most private of memories. Eyes still closed, he grabs your arm to pull you towards his side, the snuggle feeling delightful despite the tremor in your legs.

You bask in the afterglow together and try not to think. Thinking is bad. Thinking will mean it will be over soon.

Eventually, he does get up to leave. And the fading touch of that last kiss to your lips, the sting between your legs and the towel he graciously handed you is the only token that remains.

Instead of the envisioned euphoric claim of sleep, you continue to lie awake. Wide-eyed, heart hammering, stupefied.

*

You're coming down for breakfast, like every Saturday morning. The house is abuzz with the chaos of having three extra mouths to feed. Your younger brother is running around with the kind of excitement only children can have this early and the dog is barking, thoroughly confused at the odd situation. Your younger sister's eyes sparkle from across the table, notably at him sitting next to her. The camera films the domestic scene of pouring coffee and buttering bread-rolls and you can't seem to catch his eye.

All the life around you, and especially that effortless smile, there for the world to enjoy, is leaving you dead inside. While he's there, entertaining your family once again with clever jokes, you are wondering when the regret will manifest.

They leave shortly after, hanging a label at your door that approves of your households' hospitality.

You feel so, so tired.


End file.
